


It's Not the Bruises But the Pain Behind Them

by Gadhar



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Gadhar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not afraid of Sherlock, even now after what Moriarty did to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not the Bruises But the Pain Behind Them

**Author's Note:**

> I went on a JohnLock binge this week, this is the result. Just a little drabble.
> 
> I own nothing but plot. I'd like to own RDJ though....

Watson wakes up, staring blankly at the ceiling in the darkness. He was never really asleep, more so just dozing, if that. Recent events have him sleeping with one eye open, always on the alert, watching and waiting. There's no mortal danger that he's waring off, even if the bruising marks around his neck still feel like hands, he just needs- and wants- to stay awake for when he's needed, like now.

"Holmes?" Watson stays quiet, slipping from between the sheets with practiced ease before making his way to the corner of the room, footsteps like a ghost's.

A small, shrill croak, that Watson would sooner take as a cry, erupts from the sweaty, pale shaking form curled up in the corner. Watson automatically runs through his memories, pulling at all the files he's made on Sherlock, quickly tossing a few aside as he searches for one that might point to what dream it may have been that would have Holmes acting so. Watson honestly can't remember a time he's ever seen Sherlock like this, he's pretty sure there never was such a time. He's seen the detective fearful, cold, happy, and sad. Never has he seen him terrified.

"Which dream, Holmes?" Watson drops into a crouch by Sherlock, flinching slightly as Sherlock's fingers brush the bruises as his hand shoots out to wrap in the neck of Watson's shirt in a deathgrip. Watson closes his eyes for a moment, calming the frayed nerves that have been alighted at the action, calming the fear that is threatening to rise. He's not scared of Holmes, regardless of what injuries he may sustain from the man when they sleep, but on that night, with Sherlock's hands on his throat, he could swear he could feel Sherlock's pain seeping through his skin. A pain so cold and evil that even in the light of the day Watson cringes when he thinks about it. Sherlock's fingers have done nothing more than remind him of that terrible pain, a pain doubled with the thought that Sherlock had felt it too. He's fearful of feeling that again.

"J-j...ohn....?"

The word's a wet groan, like Sherlock's got a throat full of water.

"I'm right here, Holmes." Watson shifts to kneel on one knee, leaning forward to push Holmes' hair back with his hand as he leans in close, their noses almost touching.

"You're okay, right? Fine?"

Watson resists the urge to laugh, to raise his eyebrow in surprise. Usually Sherlock's so sure of himself, analyzing everything, even his own dreams. Sherlock's nightmares don't hold the same power over himself as Watson's would his. Sherlock has such a deep understanding, he never, not even for a moment, believes his dreams to feel or be real.

"I'm fine, Holmes. Just fine." Watson holds his voice calm, soothing but steady, little more than a hushed tone.

"M-M-Mmm, " Sherlock swallows thickly and Watson tilts his head closer to hear the struggling man better. "M-m...Moriarty had you. He-he.... _God John_!"

The shuddering sob that wracks through Sherlock's body crashes into Watson like a tidal wave as he wraps his arms tightly around Holmes. What Sherlock told him is enough and Watson has to stop his imagination from coming up with the boundless possibilities of what Moriarty could have been doing to him in Sherlock's dream. He still remembers his own fear and turmoil at finding Holmes, battered and beaten with his shoulder torn to shreds by that blasted hook from that damn Moriarty.

"Moriarty doesn't have me, Sherlock. You do. I'm right here with you. I'm not leaving."

Watson continues with his assurances as he feels Sherlock stiffen and relax in intervals for over an hour before completely going limp in Watson's arms. The soft snoring against his neck is a blessed sound Watson hasn't heard in months and it warms him to the core. As tired as he is, he doesn't feel like sleeping. So with a slight shift he sits, leaning against the wall with half of Sherlock curled in his lap as he runs a hand through Holmes' hair, listening to the man breathe. It's the most relaxed he's felt since Moriarty came into their lives again. But now he knows Sherlock isn't alone to deal with the fallout of the encounter on his own. And now he can rest assured that Moriarty is gone and Sherlock is going nowhere.

 


End file.
